Book of Misremembrances
by QuantumFizzx
Summary: A painful present leads Hermione to seek refuge as a Hogwarts professor...only to learn the past is more uncertain than her future. Cedric/Hermione
1. Chapter 1

A/N: In recognition of the release of the final film, I decided to write a Harry Potter fic.  
>It is mostly complete, but I cannot resist the urge to tinker. I plan to update frequently.<p>

This is M-MA rated.  
>The characters start out young &amp; there will be nothing to earn that rating until they are of age. I MAY post the M-rated portions as outtakes. Undecided.<p>

For canon-nazis… er…enthusiasts, please understand that I am utilizing a few points of difference between books & movies for a reason in this tale.

A huge 'thank you' to my beta, Heatherbella, and pre-readers, Chaz & deb24601.  
>I'd like to think I own this story plot &amp; concept.<p>

J.K. Rowling owns everything. Or, she could buy everything. Literally.

...

**PROLOGUE:**

The words blurred as they burned to life in haste. Hermione read as fast as she could, trying to reach the end, to complete the tale, to force the blocks of the past into place.

But time was a stubborn thing. It held fast.

All that she'd recently read of periwinkle robes, three champions, and time with Cedric remained a fiction to her while her memories of four champions, of a rose dress, of Dumbledore's Army, of a full year on the run with Harry…all were so very, very real.

Faster than she'd thought possible, she read until the air from her lungs expelled and constricting pain under her ribs forced her to pause and breathe again, only to begin anew.

On and on, page after page.

She read, though she knew what lie ahead.

Because she knew behind her were lies.

And yet, the book burned on with no sign of stopping. No shifting tiles of time set to right. No erasing what she had unequivocally accepted as the truth until such a short time ago.

Another page filled with words in heed to her breath. "When? When is it enough?" Hermione looked up watery-eyed. "Have I not read enough?"

"It won't be real until you let it be." Minerva said softly, almost as a question. She seemed to be thinking aloud, the idea coming to her for the first time. Bolting from her chair, she began to pace.

"We all have our own book of life. This is but one kind. We are all looking for someone to read and understand…or, better yet, to help us finish writing it.

"Do you understand what it is I am telling you, Hermione?" Minerva wrung her hands and paced over the roughed stone. "The wheels are in motion and if your suspicions are as I think they are, you must not let this come to pass. Once within the forest, there will be no retrieving.

"Go child, go!"

...

**(Hermione Granger and the) Book of Misremembrances  
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Sometimes, when Hermione looked out over the Black Lake, she almost forgot that she hadn't always been a part of the magical world. Almost.

But, when back in London, her mind was restless and unsettled. Not just London, but all things muggle no longer held the comfort of home.

The brush and squish of blade grass grew louder and alerted her to the groundskeeper's approach before his shadow engulfed her. His voice sounded out across the shore, "Hermione, the Headmistress is ready for you now."

With her arms still folded, bracing against the chill, she turned and wordlessly followed Hagrid up the hillside. Each step, she hoped, would take her further away from the things that had haunted her since she'd left Hogwart's one year prior.

Of course if anyone had asked, Hermione would have readily told them about the strange figure that had accosted her almost as soon as she had moved to London. She could have told of the foreign and mangled tongue it spoke, face like a Death Eater's mask wrought of flesh, the way it seemed to manifest on the perimeter of her life for days, weeks, months. Then, she thought it had gone. After months of casting protective enchantments had proven fruitless, she'd dared to hope that it had grown weary of tormenting her when several weeks had passed without a sighting.

Alas, those hopes were dashed when she'd spotted the familiar grey cloak in the distance when she'd left the bookshop the week before. It had not given up on its vigil, merely become stealthier. Any sense of peace Hermione had convinced herself of evaporated like a bezoar in bile.

"Pardon me fer speaking up when it was maybe your place to do, but you never brought it up, never brought nothing up… Well, point is, I heard tell of the trouble you been having." Hagrid looked down at Hermione with unmistakable pity. "Oh, now, don't you go and try to tell it were no big deal. Being stalked by anything is bound to make a person unsettled. Nasty business that."

"Thank you, Hagrid."

"No worries, Hermione. Pretty much nowt ever got into Hogwarts that wasn't wanted in and we're even stronger now." The huge man drew in a lung full of air. "Not on my watch. Not when you come to me, to here, for protection. Not on your Nelly. "

Hermione wanted to correct him, to tell him that the protection the school offered was only one factor in her decision to apply. She wanted to tell him that, but it wasn't the most honest of answers.

She felt compelled to return.

The particular doors through which Hagrid and Hermione passed were new, as were the walls and tiles and fixtures in this rebuilt wing. Not that anyone who had never been here before would notice. But she had been here before, mostly lived and nearly died here before. She knew.

The stairs to the office were the same as ever, though, and Hermione felt a wave of melancholy remembering the times she had ridden the winding stairs to visit a different, fatherly headmaster who no longer dwelt within.

The door was ajar, so she slipped in, her heels clicking along the slightly uneven stones. It occurred to her that she'd not worn dress shoes here in years.

Not since the Yule Ball.

That had been a mostly glorious occasion. For once, her bushy hair had succumbed to vigorous attempts at taming. She'd worn fluted rose robes and felt beautiful, like she truly belonged on a Tri-Wizard's arm. Though she would never admit it aloud, she even felt as pretty as Cho Chang and might've, just for the night, seemed not too out of the league of handsome Cedric Diggory. Not that there was anything wrong with Viktor, nothing objectionable. He'd been perfectly agreeable. And attentive. And, in the end, rather smothering.

She didn't often let herself think of Cedric; she felt a greater sadness about what had happened to him than their brief acquaintance warranted. She felt near hollowed-out whenever Cedric was mentioned. Hermione had never really understood the acute pain that his loss triggered within her.

Perhaps she simply had greatly esteemed him… and in a world of so many mediocre, petty, and disloyal wizards, Cedric had seemed genuine.

"Hermione?"

Startled not only at the sudden noise, but also at hearing Professor McGonagall use her first name rather than "Miss Granger," she stumbled gracelessly and landed in the chair opposite the Headmistress' desk.

"You were miles away, Dear," McGonagall poured a cup of tea and pushed it across the desk toward Hermione. "Are you quite alright?"

"Quite, thank you." She was anything but, however Hermione took the opportunity to sip the drink and collect her nerves. Her hopes rested entirely in the outcome of this meeting; she really had to demonstrate she was competent and mature enough for the position, even though she was but a year out from some students.

She'd heard of the decision to replace some of the less-beloved instructors at Hogwarts only a week ago. Hermione had learned, time and again, the importance of knowing the history of magic and sincerely believed she would make an excellent replacement for Binns, who would finally be enjoying his eternal rest like a proper ghost ought.

At the very least, she was more lively than he.

Hermione replaced her cup on the saucer, cleared her throat, and launched into her prepared speech outlining her qualifications.

She never even got started.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Professor McGona-"

"Minerva."

"Pardon me?"

"Hermione," the older woman reached out and patted Hermione's hand reassuringly. "As colleagues, it is customary to use first names." McGonagall lowered her voice and a softness entered her eyes. "As friends, I would insist upon it."

Hermione felt dumbstruck. She had been under the impression this was an employment interview, the first necessary step toward leaving the problems of the muggle world – in her case, terrifying problems – behind her, and to finding sanctuary within Hogwart's veritable fortress walls.

"Hermione, the position was yours the moment your owl arrived." McGonagall straightened in her chair. "I've arranged for your things to arrive shortly. Is there anyone to whom you wish to send notice of your new circumstances?"

"No, there's no one." And there truly was not. Not her parents, not Harry, not Ron. They all had developed lives beyond Hermione, while Hermione seemed to feel incomplete. Perhaps that had been why the pull to return to Hogwarts had become so strong. Her fears and her loneliness had combined and compelled her to the castle doors.

The younger witch's cheeks flushed and she felt a wave of relief ebb into tears. Now that it was reality and the muggle world was her past, the sense of relief was profound.

And yet, as ever, something felt amiss.

Thoughts like this seemed quite ungrateful, Hermione determined, and she pushed them aside to give McGona- _Minerva,_ a genuine, albeit watery smile. She was a professor. The Hogwart's History of Magic professor.

Hermione expressed her gratitude with great enthusiasm and pledged to be a most devoted instructor, then excused to herself so she might begin to settle into her new chambers.

"But, Hermione, I did call you here for a reason beyond - actually far beyond - offering you the job."

"Really?" Hermione sat down again. What someone as busy and powerful as the witch in front of her could need was a mystery.

"When I took over here," Minerva said, and gestured about the office, the former school headmasters' portraits barely taking notice as most continued to sleep despite the hour, "it was regrettable that every corner of Hogwarts was in disarray." It was true. Large sections of the building had been reduced to rubble, the grounds resembled a slash and burn project, and the morale was precisely what one would expect in a former battleground.

"Many items," she continued, her voice taking on a tell-tale quiver, "Many important matters simply could not be addressed. There wasn't time in the day. There were children to feed, classes to conduct, and… forgive me, I digress." She opened a desk drawer and withdrew a thickly bound book, then placed it on the desk before resting both her hands atop it. "Hermione, tell me dear, does this look familiar to you?"

It wasn't necessary for Hermione to respond in words, for it was clear from her look of surprise that the book was unlike any she could recall ever having seen before. Not only were the covers and spine nearly one-third inch thick, embossed leather, the edges of the pages had a phosphorescent glow and there was no title of any kind.

"I thought not." With that, McGonagall removed her hands and the book flew through the air and landed in an unsuspecting Hermione's lap just as smoothly as if it she had summoned it.

"What sort of book is this?" Try as she might, Hermione could not disguise the wonder in her voice.

"It is a Journull. A diary of sorts. An unalterable account of one's days." McGonagall moved around the desk and took the book back, opening it up to reveal an interior that appeared to be comprised entirely of blank pages. "This was in your file. I am not proud of the fact that I should have come across it sooner. But, well, there was no need to check your file when the Ministry called for your references last year. So, it sat there untouched until I had decided to seek you out and ask you to consider teaching here."

This was news to Hermione, as she'd had no idea that she was actually being recruited rather than applying.

"I've heard of these," Hermione said. "They are rather rare, are they not?"

"Oh, mercy yes, indeed, they are. And we should all be so grateful that is the case."

"Their purpose eludes me. Why would anyone need an unalterable diary? Surely it would not change anything simply because one's very own diary had been edited."

"They are rare for the precise reason that their need for existence is rare as well." Her softly wrinkled hands began leafing through the innermost pages reverently. "You see, Journulls, while ancient, are not exceedingly so. They are a reactionary magic."

"Reactionary?" Hermione asked, leaning forward in her chair, somewhat transfixed by the faint glow of each page. Each edge was the color of lucifrase, and they had begun to pulse as a lightning bug might in the moonlight. "You mean to say that it is triggered, unknowingly, by the casting of another spell?"

"Or charm… or curse, as the case may be," Minerva said, her voice trailing off near the end. "They were created to counteract the effects of altered reality. What is writ on these pages is more definite than what may be wrought in stone." She slammed the book shut and held it fast to her desk. "For, what is cast in stone, be it a year spent abroad or a single punch to the face of a very deserving fair-haired boy, may be altered and forgotten with a clever charm or spell. This is what happened the first time, well, the first time, _time _happened."

Hermione knew the incident to which McGonagall was referring. Slugging Draco Malfoy had been one of the highlights of her young life and her use of the Time Turner had allowed her not only to do it but to witness herself do it later as well. Good times.

"Are you saying that this book has recorded what happened before I used the Time Turner?"

McGonagall waved off her concern. "Pish posh. I organized the files myself at the end of your third year in preparation for sponsoring the visiting delegations of two schools the next year. The book was not there during that summer, but I suspect it was created some point thereafter. Though I haven't the foggiest when Dumbledore placed it within your file."

"Dumbledore?" Hermione gasped.

"Well, of course, who else would you think could create such a powerful thing and harbour it within these walls?" McGonagall's eyes sparkled.

"Why on earth or otherwise would Dumbledore feel the need? For me? Are you sure?"

McGonagall turned the book to face Hermione and slowly bent back its thick cover to reveal the only words visible anywhere within. There, in the familiar script of the late Albus Dumbledore himself, was the following inscription:

This book and its contents are the rightful property of Ms. Hermione Granger, most faithful friend of Harry Potter, brightest witch of our time, and unsung champion of us all.

When found, it should be returned to Ms. Granger and things set to rights.

For, since this will have been in a position to be found, it will be necessary to do so.

- A. Dumbledore

"'And its contents?'" Hermione tried not to, but she let a small bubble of laughter escape. The book contained nothing.

McGonagall smiled a patient but wise smile. "If you look closely, I'm sure you'll see that is not the case. Now, read to me child." With that, she slid the book nearer Hermione and it moved to her hands and opened to the first page. The paper's glow now flickered like flame.

"What?" Hermione looked up and the older witch waved her on in encouragement. Tucking an errant lock of hair behind her ear, Hermione turned her head down to begin the unusual task of reading a blank piece of parchment.

As she open her mouth to object, her breath spilled out across the page and words began to appear. Words in Hermione's handwriting. Her own handwriting, but she was certain she'd not written these actual words.

_By, rights, I don't belong here._

"What is this?" Hermione could barely speak much less read.

"It is, for want of a better description, the truth. Read on."

Hermione cleared the lump from her throat and proceeded.

_I don't belong in this room with the newly-selected Tri-Wizard champions, but neither does Harry._

_Professor McGonagall is clearly distraught after that inane Goblet spit Harry's name out. And who could blame her? Seriously powerful magical object or no, the thing is not functioning properly and it seems the collective of school staff and ministry officials are content to let sleeping dogs lie._

_Adults! Well, I've dealt with a three-headed sleeping dog and those things have a tendency to wake up and bite one in the bum._

"_Cheater!"_

"_Did you put your name in that cup? Are you sure? Did you get one of the older students to do it?"_

"_No. No, Sir."_

"_But of course he's lying."_

"_The Goblet of Fire constitutes a binding magical contract. From this point forward, Mr. Potter is a Tri-Wizard champion."_

"_Are we simply going to offer Potter up as bait?" McGonagall shakes her head._

"_I agree… with Snape."_

"_Excuse me," my voice sounds so small in the room. "Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore, but that isn't right."_

"_Silence Granger!" Professor Snape's voice splits the air. "Return to Gryffindor Tower immediately before you spend the duration of the Tri-Wizard Tournament sorting my storage cupboard."_

_Dumbledore holds his hand up to silence Snape._

"_There is no binding contract where there is duress or forgery. That note is not Harry's handwriting and he certainly did not cross the Age Line that you drew yourself. If Harry is forced into a position of contractual liability through forgery, duress, coercion, or the like, the contract is void." I'm on a roll and, for once, no one seems to be huffing in annoyance as the words spill from my mouth. In fact, the four students by the fire look as though they might like to cheer. Harry probably looks a bit more relieved than anything else and while Diggory is not someone with whom I'm terribly familiar, he seems… impressed?_

_I feel my chest puff out a bit at the thought that I might've garnered the favourable attention, however fleeting, of the most popular boy in school._

"_The Goblet of Fire exists for the sole purpose of selecting participants in the fairest manner. It is clear that the results have been tampered with if it stacks the odds in favour of Hogwarts'" I say._

"_Yes," Olymype pipes up, finally obliging of my interruption now that it benefits her Beaubaton Academy. "This is what I am saying!"_

_Dumbledore clasps his hands and his head falls forward. After a moment, he nods._

_The crowd seems celebratory as whole; however, Snape confers with Dumbledore silently. Why he trusts that man I'll never understand. Moody takes a swig of his brew and mutters his goodbyes as Harry pounces on me. Krum seems as though he wants to speak with me, but I'm busy being squeezed by my best friend. Harry may have cut off my oxygen supply for too long; I swear I see Diggory smile brightly at me._

"But," Hermione began, "This is cannot be true. Harry was forced to be a Tri-Wizard Champion. I was not at that meeting. I spent the evening trying to calm Ron down after Harry was selected."

McGonagall leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips. "That is the way I recall the day as well. But, that is the way of it, the 'writer' and one who hears the words read aloud will exist in a state of flux during the reveal."

"So, you're saying that we will remember it two ways for a time?"

"Yes, the planted memories will co-exist with the original memories for a time as things are set to rights. As I understand it, this is a gradual process. It is as if time is made of building blocks and each must be replaced in order. When appropriate, the planted, false memory will fade."

Hermione swallowed hard. It was difficult to imagine that Harry had not spent their fourth year fretting about the tasks, deciphering the egg clue, nearly dying in the maze.

"Hermione," McGonagall sounded even gentler than at any point prior, "perhaps it's best not to prolong the existence of loose threads in the fabric of time."

At her insistence, Hermione began reading again….


	2. Chapter 2

_Across the inordinately breezy courtyard, I hear my name being called._

_"Granger. Granger!"_

_Clutching my books to my chest, I turn and see Cedric Diggory break away from his ever-present throng of admirers and head in my direction._

_The closer he gets, the farther I press my books into my chest. I feel exposed. The weather inspired the loose bun I now regret wearing today._

_"Granger," he says breathlessly as his jog ends right in front of me._

_"Diggory." I really don't know what he wants. It's not like we've ever spoken apart from pleasantries at the World Cup over break and I can feel everyone watching our unusual encounter._

_"Well, I hear you're the brightest witch Hogwarts has seen in years."_

_My mouth drops open. This is something that people seem to say all the time, but it doesn't ever keep them from simultaneously being annoyed when I know the answers. Has he singled me out for public humiliation? What have I ever done to him?_

_"What of it?"_

_He looks taken aback. I suppose being the golden boy doesn't afford him much opportunity to interact with the unimpressed. "Um, well, I was hoping we might team up. You're good at figuring things out, logical and all that, right?"_

_"If this is regarding the tournament, need I remind you that, as a Tri-Wizard Champion, you stand alone?"_

_The corners of his mouth turn up, making his face even more handsome. "Of course, but I am allowed to utilize resources as I see fit. You, Hermione, are far too good… and clever to go… unused."_

_Heat tinges my face. I realize I'm studying the cobblestone walk._

_"Loo-…Please, look at me." Warm words move across my ear._

_His proximity flusters me and when I look up he's towering over me, his grey eyes searching my own. I'm uncertain if it is a good or bad feeling that flickers within me._

_Several moments have passed in silence while he holds my gaze. _

_I'm not sure what to say, but he must have seen something because he pulls back almost as if he's seen a ghost for the very first time. "Yeah, well then, what do you say,__Granger__? What better way to manifest the 'spirit of magical cooperation' than to form an inter-house team?" He finishes the last few words in a winded laugh. It sounds a bit off, actually._

_He beams down at me and I wonder momentarily if he has always bewitched the entire world with his charms._

"_Well, alright then," I hear myself say. "What did you have in mind?"_

_"You recall the golden egg the dragon was guarding in the first task?"_

_Cedric goes on to tell me that the egg makes a horrendous noise whenever he tries to inspect it further. He's desperate to figure out its secret as it holds clues about the second task. The idea of working with him – on the task, of course – is thrilling. Besides, it will give me the perfect excuse to refuse to do Ron's and Harry's homework for them. It's high time those boys completed their scrolls on their own._

_._

McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Sorry," Hermione squeaked.

"Oh, pish posh. It's not like I didn't know what the three of you were brewing up most of the time."

.

_In the off-hours, Cedric and I have taken to meeting at the library._

_I'd known he had to be gifted to be selected as Hogwarts' champion over all the students in sixth year with him. Never mind the seventh years who had an entire year of studies over him. At times, I found him downright intimidating… so, I did my best in those moments to try and trip him up with some obscure reference._

_We were about 50/50 on who won those moments._

_In a way, Cedric and Harry led similar and yet utterly disparate lives. Both garnered attention without effort or even desire to do so. Everyone had high expectations of them._

_Cedric doesn't seek the attention, it finds him. People are drawn to him. He's charming and tall and… handsome. It seems an old-fashioned term, but Cedric's is a timeless beauty._

_"Diggory," I whisper, as I chuck a balled bit of scratch parchment across the library table, aiming for his head. "I don't understand something."_

_"Really? Somebody call the Daily Prophet – Granger is stumped." He does this often. Teases me in a way that might bother me if it were anyone else._

_"Be serious. We've spent – what? – upwards of one hundred hours researching?"_

_His brows knit, some confusion there, and he nods as if to say "what's your point?"_

_"I don't understand why you're in this tournament."_

_"Merlin! Thank you for the vote of confidence Granger."_

_"No, that's not what I meant." I move around to his side of the table. The air is different here and I wonder why I felt the need to relocate. He straightens, but doesn't look like he's going to bolt. "You don't showboat or gloat or even, really, seem to want all the attention you already have. So why do this?"_

_He frowns._

_"You… you think this is a bid for glory."_

_I shrug. There seems no other explanation for putting oneself in harm's way._

_"I'm in Hufflepuff. Huffle-Poof. Sure, I told myself that I let my mates wrangle me into putting my name in… but that's not it. I drew on their courage._

_"Thing is, it's all theoretical, isn't it?" He gestures at the books then, slowly, at himself. "I'm no more proven than conjecture in a book. Sometimes… sometimes I think the Goblet had it right with Harry and I'm the glitch."_

_"Cedric! You're the most talented wizard here. McGonagall let you lead a whole Transfiguration class in her absence. I feel like I need to set off my habit of doing a little light reading and do heavy reading just to keep up with you."_

_His smile is lop-sided. It's new and I find myself smiling when just a moment ago I'd felt like anything but. It's quiet for several moments before he speaks, not focusing on anything and picking at the corner pages of a text._

_"I need to prove myself to myself, you know?"_

_._

"Begging your pardon, Professor McGonagall," Hagrid's giant voice bounces off the office walls, "I don't mean to be a bother, but the kitchen staff are in a right fit. Pretty near run mad about missing napkins and such."

"Napkins? Are you quite sure?" Minerva seemed more bemused than concerned.

"Well, I can't rightly say, what with it being hard to understand them high-pitched voices of theirs."

Hermione took the momentary interruption as an opportunity to leaf forward in the book. Nothing but blank pages lay ahead but the words she'd already read aloud were emblazoned in dark ink. Every page still flickered rhythmically.

She tried to recognize the beat, but no songs came to mind.

"Certainly they can conjure up more napkins. Mercy." No longer amused, Minerva looked positively annoyed.

Hagrid took up a great, sudden interest in the flooring. "They's a superstitious lot. Claim it's not as simple as a thieving or silly house prank."

"Very well," Minerva huffed. "Miss Grang- Oh, gracious me! I'm clinging to old habits as well. Hermione, please get your chambers sorted. We will continue this shortly."

Hermione reverently ran the palm of her hand over the leather binding. "Might I… that is… would it have the same effect if I read on my own?" The idea of sharing intimate details of her life, even if those details seemed ludicrous at this point, with anyone, was not something she relished.

"I cannot say with any certainty what the outcome might be; however, it is best not to tempt fate. And, dare I say, the intentions of fate seem to have been stretched thin already."

Hermione nodded resolutely and departed, book tucked under her arm, to settle into her new home.

As her belongings found all their respective spots, Hermione tried to casually recall any clearer memories of researching in the library with Cedric. It had seemed so very vivid, very real, as she'd read aloud earlier. Now, any idea of Cedric speaking with her at all, much less opting for long study sessions, was sketchy at best.

Though, as if it were yesterday, she could see his name spew forth from the Goblet of Fire, could see him twirl and lift Cho on the dance floor, could hear his father's wail fill the empty night sky.

A knock at her door jarred Hermione from her thoughts.

Her mouth opened to say, "Come in" but the words dried up in her mouth. Even knowing full-well that the only thing on the other side of the door was one Minerva McGonagall was not enough to override the paranoia of being stalked for the past year.

She checked the door thoroughly and then straightened herself in the hopes that her skittishness would not be terribly apparent.

One look from Minerva made it clear that Hermione was fooling no one with her false bravado, but the older woman was too polite to mention it.

"Shall we?"

Hermione sighed, sank to her mattress and opened the book to its first blank page. The words filled in as she began to read again.

.

_"Now, just why is it that my course schedule is being revamped mid-quarter?" The parchment, now tightly wadded in my hand, had arrived earlier in a much flatter, easier-to-read state._

_Cedric has the decency to look concerned. As well he should; I am enraged. It's scholastic suicide to enter courses – especially advanced courses – when the lessons are half-taught._

_"I thought you'd see the brilliance of it." He has risen from his courtyard bench and begun to back a few paces away._

_"You're wasted in those classes," he continues. The parchment wad hits him square in his perfect face._

_"Aw, come on now. It's a bloody compliment. I thought you'd be thrilled," he says, and might look genuinely concerned now._

_"Thrilled? Thrilled? I've got scrolls and scrolls of notes for reports which I'll never write. Back lessons to catch up on just to be on par with other students in these new classes. Really, Cedric, with all this research for the tournament we need to do, how could you possibly think that getting me into most of your classes – your advanced classes, I might add – would be a good idea?"_

_"You know more than most of the dolts 'round here anyway. I'll help you catch up. All the extra topics… something is bound to come up to help with the tasks."_

_I toss him a sceptical look._

_"Granger, I know a part of you is ecstatic for this opportunity." He swallows loudly, shoving his hands in his pockets under his robes. "It means spending a bit more time together… but I don't mind so much if you don't."_

_While I've ranted, I failed to notice that his retreat has purposefully lead us to a quiet corner of the yard._

_He seems to search for words for a moment. Then, after a heavy breath, he looks at me without blinking._

_"Come on __Granger__. We're better together."_

.

Hermione closed her eyes slowly and deliberately. This was necessary because she had come to realize that her eyes were quite dry; probably because she had failed to blink for the last several minutes while reading.

"Was he – was Cedric flirting with me?"

Minerva let a small laugh escape. "I think that was a smidge more than flirting. That, my dear, was a campaign."


	3. Chapter 3

_It seems this egg is not meant to be cracked._

_Thus far, our search has proven fruitless. No books seem to reference anything like it._

"_So," Cedric says, his eyes twinkling, "that's the best place to collect gnome tears. Becau-"_

"_Because the northern slope isn't polluted with cicada dust!"_

"_Precisely. Blimey, Granger." He looks at me in a way I can't quite decipher. "It's brilliant not having to explain everything all the time, you know?"_

"_Yes, actually, I do." And I did. These sessions with Cedric have quickly become the highlight of my day. We get so much accomplished and at times it is a challenge to keep up with him._

_Today, the frustration of zero egg progress is at an all-time high._

_Cedric chucks his quill toward the stacks. "Should we try opening it under a full moon? At precisely midnight? Do none of these markings mean anything?"_

"_A full moon? Honestly, does it look like a were-egg to you?"_

_Cedric scowls and opens his mouth, no doubt ready to rant, but stops suddenly. "No, I suppose you're right. How long have we been at this, Granger? Two weeks?"_

"_Closer to three. I can keep researching, if you need to make arrangements." My voice shakes but I don't think he's noticed._

"_Arrangements? What are you on about Granger?"_

_He still calls me Granger. Hours upon hours of partnered research, vast quantities of books sifted through, and many late night runs to the kitchens when we've forgotten to go to dinner, and he still calls me Granger. At first it annoyed me, but now I find myself annoyed when others call me that. It's Cedric's name for me._

"_The Yule Ball, Diggory," I huff and blow a section of hair from my face._

_He rolls his eyes and slings an arm over the back of his chair. "What about the bloody ball?"_

"_That 'bloody ball' is in less than one week's time and you'll be expected to lead the dance with Cho."_

"_That's not likely."_

"_McGonagall - or in your case I suppose, Professor Sprout, - will have your hide if you embarrass Hogwarts by not dancing properly." I blow the hair out of my face again and his eyes follow its path. "McGonagall will probably do you some damage as well."_

"_There's no worry on that count; I could to that dance in my sleep. But Cho is going with your friend Potter."_

"_Harry? How did he pull that off? But I thought-"_

"_Well, you thought wrongly." He shrugs and turns to face me. Then, he leans a bit across. Suddenly, his hand is near my ear, tucking back the hair I hadn't even realized had escaped again. "No loss. I've been busy with… more important things."_

_My hand is near my ear before I realize I've moved and then he entwines his fingers with mine._

"_What say we take this partnership public, Granger?"_

_._

"I can't go on Profess- Minerva. What is the point of going forward with this?" Hermione sniffed and rubbed her now red-rimmed and swollen brown eyes. "To make Cedric's death even more painful by revealing that he and I had a deeper relationship than I currently know? Even I know that no spell or charm can resurrect someone."

"I hardly think it is of benefit to resign all hope for a… better outcome."

"With all due respect – and I mean a great deal of due respect to you, Professor MacGonagall – but the outcome regarding Ced-… _Mr. Diggory_, cannot be much different. False memory implantation really would tend to fall to the wayside once he waltzed in very much alive to his parents' home for tea."

Hermione recalled using the Time Turner to alter recent events, thereby saving Sirius and Buckbeak. But these events with Cedric were years ago, not a few rotations on a Turner dial. "This is pointless pain and what if it only makes things worse somehow?"

"Hermione, was Dumbledore often wrong? No. If he thought something about your life was important enough to ensure its preservation regardless, who are we to question the merit? Now, please, proceed."

.

_Deciding not to tell anyone (especially Ron, who assumes I have no date and seems shocked at the revelation that I am actually a girl), that I was attending the ball with Cedric saved me from the innumerable queries of curious schoolmates. Thus I was afforded much-needed time to research the egg and acquire suitable dress robes._

_At breakfast, Ron is cursing his boiled egg. He bangs it with his spoon, rolls it along the table, and ends up with huge chunks of egg wasted and stuck to the shell._

"_My Granny used to shell her eggs under running water," I remark, and promptly begin to choke on my pumpkin juice._

_I'm sputtering and Harry is thumping me on the back and everyone is starting to look at me while I am on the verge of becoming the first person to laugh with joy while asphyxiating._

"_Under water!" I laugh and scramble away from the table._

_As I leave, I hear Ron mumble, "Mental, that one."_

_I hurry toward the Potions lab. It is one of the few classes that Cedric and I don't share; of course, Professor Snape would not consent to my advancement. I hope I can catch Cedric in the corridor. Like clockwork, he rounds the corner and he already seems to be looking for me. I wonder what he needs to tell me._

"_Good Morning, Miss Granger," he says, and steers us into an alcove._

"_Mister Diggory." I return his greeting cordially as others filter by until we are concealed. He leans back on a painted window and looks so pleased with himself that I wonder for a moment if he, too, has figured out the egg._

"_I need you to take a bath," I blurt._

_He blinks. "Come again?"_

"_We need to get the egg in a bath."_

"_You want to bathe with me?" He's teasing me now._

"_Focus, Diggory. Egg. Clue. Key. Solved."_

_He takes a moment for that to sink in._

"_You're telling me that if the egg takes a bath, we'll get the clue to the second task?" He says and before I know what's happening he's scooped me up and is spinning me around. Giddy._

"_Yes, you numpty! Now, put me down."_

_He stops spinning but doesn't let go, my feet still hover off the floor. He's so tall. I wonder for a moment what the world looks like through his smoky eyes._

"_Thank you, Hermione," he says softly, nose-to-nose. Then he loosens and I slide down through his arms until my feet find the floor._

_I'm back in my room before I realize that he'd never said if he wanted anything._

**/* *\**

_I don't see Cedric outside of our classes again until after dinner. He makes a detour to walk with me toward Gryffindor Tower._

_I haven't been sure of our status. Chancing this as the moment to ask, Cedric laughs and replies, "Whatever else would it be? It's a date, of course."_

_My cheeks warm._

"_And, as such, I expect my arm to be the only arm you are on."_

"_Only toes, more like it."_

"_However it works, Granger, however it works."_

_..._

_..._

**A/N**: Many thanks to you for taking this journey with me.  
>Also to my beta, Heatherbella. Not only does she catch my copious errors, she is invaluable in helping me choose words like "numpty " over "goof."<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: ** It's so interesting to read your theories!  
>It's also very gratifying to hear that you're finding this intriguing. While I don't mind the questions, I hope it's understandable that there are some things I won't answer just yet!<br>Thanks again to my beta, Heatherbella and to my pre-readers Chaz and deb24601

…

…

_The day of the Yule Ball arrived with abundant fanfare. A flurry of activity, from decorating to special-delivery owls, to makeshift spas. I've sequestered myself in a valiant effort to tame my hair. My robes are in order and I smile as I see no one else appears to be wearing periwinkle._

_There are enough potions in my hair that it should lie flat from sheer weight alone. Though none of the other girls have asked who, if anyone, I am going with, they've all been surprisingly inclusive. Ginny, of course, being the most helpful._

"_You look lovely, Hermione," she said, fastening me into my blue robes as I hold my hair up._

"_Thank you, Ginny. You do, as well. Neville is a lucky young man."_

_Ginny nods half-heartedly. I know she had not-so secretly wished Harry would ask her to the ball, but he's been enamoured with Cho for far too long not to seize the opportunity._

"_Oh, Ginny, he'll come around."_

"_Perhaps. Oh, don't listen me and let me ruin your special day."_

"_Special day?"_

_Ginny looks at me like I have sprouted two heads. "Being the date of a Tri-Wizard Champion is not something that happens every day."_

"_What? How?" I nearly shout, then lower my voice to a whisper. "How did you know?"_

"_Cedric came to me, of course. Wanted to know what colour your robes were, "Ginny says as she heads for the door. "…and other things."_

"_What other things?" I think I might be shrieking by now. "Ginny, don't you dare leave without telling me!"_

"_Oh, I really must go. Need to get ready. Almost time," she laughs and yells behind her from the doorway._

"_Ginny Weasley, you get back here this instant!"_

_It doesn't appear she's coming back._

_Bollocks._

_I am unbelievably nervous as I descend the stairs toward the Great Hall. Many couples are already together, milling about. No doubt, a goodly portion of these nerves are due to the anticipation of hundreds of eyes upon me. It's not so much that I care what most of them think, but after years of scrutiny and snide comments… well, I prefer low-profile moments._

_Before I reach the bottom-most step, I pivot and search for him. In this moment, it all becomes clear; mostly, I hope Cedric doesn't have regrets. _

_That's the hardest part of doing your very best; If you fail, the weakness was inherently you._

_Professor McGonagall is scurrying about, herding the Champions and their partners into her fold. I see no sign of Cedric. Cho, however, manages to look like a decorative slip of marzipan draped over Harry's arm._

"_She's beautiful." Pavarti's voice draws my attention to a nearby casement. There beside her, Cedric emerges from a darkened hall, looking at me._

"_That she is," he says. He's dressed in traditional black robes and holds one hand out to me while the other remains in his pocket._

"_I think McGonagall is looking for you." I manage to choke the words out._

"_She probably is." He seems to study the polished curls that are huddled near my neck._

_I roll my eyes and he mocks me by doing the same. It marks the last of his tomfoolery for the night; in the next moment, he straightens, wraps my arm in his and is the perfect gentleman._

_During our entrance, among the crowd's cheers, I can hear the question, again and again._

"_Is that... is that really Hermione Granger? With Cedric Diggory?"_

_We, along with the other champion couples, lead the first dance. It's a peculiar mixture of a waltz with lifts. We look to one another to count off the beginning but by the second spin, I find my attention fixed squarely on the buttons of his shirt. The spotlight's pressure feels like flames against my skin and it's all I can do to count out the steps and hope not to stumble or trip or any other manner of humiliation in front o-_

_Suddenly, I'm aloft and the crowd is below me. It's not time for a lift. I come back down just as fast, sliding through his encircled arms, only to have my toes skim the floor before he's spun and lifted me on the next beat. Up, hold, then down again._

_This time, mid-air, he catches me._

_I catch his face._

_Mischief._

_Joy._

_The beat comes again and I'm and laughing and my stomach might be in the ice chandelier and I can't make myself care. And down again._

_Up again, and just when I expect to brace myself for a landing the room spins and my hands are on his wide shoulders and hold him and he keeps spinning us and the notes fade away and the world fades away and all that exists is this boy who makes me feel… just feel._

_With steady arms and strength I can feel moving me, he returns me slowly to earth. The floor is full and if anyone is looking at us, I neither know nor care._

"_Granger," he speaks against my ear. "Are you mine?"_

_It is the first question with an answer neither one of us fully comprehends._

"_Yes."_

Hermione closed the book with a resounding thud that nearly, but not quite, covered her sob.

The lathed leather cover had at first appeared to be in a design of intricate swirls, but closer inspection revealed them to be interwoven vines and clusters of elderberries. The pages weren't glued, but rather sewn into the spine.

The thread was a braid of white strands. Iridescent. Gossamer.

She was vaguely aware of the sound of pouring liquid as her cup was refilled.

"They are most likely unicorn hairs." Minerva had endured the silence for as long as she was able. "The creator of such an object must actually construct it, not merely enchant an existing object or conjure it."

Hermione tried to picture Dumbledore in his study – old eyes peering above his spectacles and withered fingers aiming thread at a needle's eye – taking time out of his day, time from running the school or saving the world from Voldemort, to make this insurance policy for her life. Had she done anything so grand as to merit such laborious ministrations from the greatest wizard of the past century? Sure, she'd helped. She was ever so helpful, but those adventures were part and parcel of her friendship with Harry. Learning experiences. She was all the better for them and not at all inclined to think that her personal fortunes were worth such precious efforts.

But then, maybe her attitude had as much to do with what the book was revealing than anything.

"What is the point of this? To cause me pain? To make me remember Cedric, to honour his memory… differently?" Hermione pushed to book across the desk and away from her.

It slid itself back, slowly and steadily, to her.

"Time wants to be mended," Minerva observed.

"And what of me?" Hermione nearly shrieked and then shrank back at her own outburst. "Do I mend in opening these wounds? Perhaps it is better this way. What good can come from remembering when he is gone?"

"Hermione, Cedric was a good person. He was obviously dear to you."

"What if… what if I made this happen?" Her voice was barely a whisper. What if I made everyone forget?" A silent tear ran a trail down her cheek.

"Do you think it is just any individual with whom I would entrust a Time Turner?" Minerva made a show of brushing off her robes, then gave a pointed look. "I do not doubt for one moment that you are one of the few who would have the ability to figure out such an immense magical undertaking as altering mass memories, but you would do no such thing. You, Hermione Granger, are a selfless person, therefore, you would never mutilate the memory of another simply to alleviate your own grief. I rather believe you would be inclined to wear that grief as a badge of honour."

Hermione ran her hand over the leather once more.

"I cannot bear to read more," she said with no small amount of finality. "A part of me feels almost as though he's trapped in that book. But all that's in there is hurt. I don't know what more lies ahead. I don't know if he dies in the maze or otherwise. I don't know much of anything. But I do know this: Cedric Diggory is gone and remembering the specifics won't bring him back."

"He deserves truth." Minerva clasped the brooch holding her robes together. "Only the living can protect the dead in such a way."

No one had protected Cedric when needed, but she could now.

She could be his protector.

Hermione opened the book again.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **There are 2 updates tonight. I'll post them back-to-back.  
>I simply feel that this chapter needs to end where it does.<p>

…

…

_Inside the Great Hall, I assume the band still plays on, students dance on, and the night wears on._

_But, we are nowhere near the Great Hall._

_His hand holds mine between the fold of his fingers and palm. He's said nothing; there's been no need._

_Presently, we are near the greenhouse solarium. Despite the chill, crocus blooms permeate the air with sweetness, and beside them, some darkly petalled blooms sway on long, spindle stems. They smell of mint._

"_Pectorspire," he says, pinching one free. He holds it between us, slightly spinning the stem._

"_It's out-of-season." It's almost a question._

_His head tilts, contemplates. He agrees. "Spring, usually."_

_Around our feet, stems and blooms burst through a thin snow crust as the patch spreads. _

_Rolling, painting the hillside. _

_On and on, crack and appear and spin toward the sky._

_I look around, disbelieving even after years surrounded by magic. "Herbology is not my forte." I swallow. "Is this… normal?"_

_Cedric may be as awestruck as I. "Perfectly normal…Under certain…" He swallows."… perfect conditions." His voice trails off, following the manifesting field which rises and twists moonward._

_Slowly, my hand reaches out to trace the outline of the bloom he still suspends between us._

"_What, may I ask, are these conditions?" I watch the flower spin. My voice bounces back from his chest._

"_Pectorspire reflects the heart." He swallows again, his voice lower, the wind nearly stealing it. "Tell me, Gra-… Hermione, tell me… what do you see?"_

"_It should be hideous, but it isn't. It's beautiful. Brown painted petals blended to grey." I feel myself__begin to shake slightly. "As grey as your eyes."_

"As brown as yours." He traces a thumb over my temple.

"_Wood and smoke…"_

"_Yes…"_

_He breathes. Shudders. Runs the blossom along my cheek._

_Then, the flower is gone, dropped somewhere among the sea of same, and his fingers finish. I feel two trace my jaw, find that space between my neck and skull, weave into my hair._

_Pressure that's only a request._

_Complicity that becomes command._

_I'm up like those moon-bound blooms and he's down as though gravity forgot about a duty to all others save him._

_Discovery and study have nothing on this._

_Lips and life and longing._

_I want this knowledge of him, his lips. My tongue dares a taste; he's smooth and sweet and same. Same because his tongue tangles with mine, shares whatever there is to share._

_And despite all my logical observations, I don't know when I become pressed against him. I don't how my hands wound through his hair, under his robes, in his shirt. I hadn't noticed when his hand burrowed into the layers of my dress, when his fingers splayed at the base of my spine, when we breathed only each other's breaths._

_Gasps and a fraction of distance. His forehead rests on mine, his lips open in my view and words I understand but do not grasp spill out amongst the night and the flowers and what can only now be called us._

_He whispers. "I didn't know this is what we were doing."_

_I press __a kiss __to his throat, under his chin._

_He folds me into him. "I thought we were looking… but really, we were finding."_

_._

She doesn't know how long she's sat silent, the book open upon her lap.

A biscuit sat beside her cup when she shut the cover.

It was shortbread. It was stale

And she was alone.


	6. Chapter 6

_The Bubblehead Charm. It really seems like the way to go. Cedric proposed the idea almost as soon as he'd heard the egg's message. He'd been dripping, hair plastered to his forehead, teeth chattering, when I heard him arguing with the Fat lady about letting him speak with me. Bright as he may be, when in the moment or when exceedingly flustered, Cedric can overlook the most obvious of details - such as a drying spell on a blustery, January day._

_It seems almost guaranteed that he will swim in the Black Lake for one hour during the second task. There are weeks to prepare and perfect the charm. He'll be searching for something. A hunt._

_It all seems to fall into place. Almost like the challenge was more about figuring out the egg than the task itself._

_It's so simple and straightforward that now it makes me wary._

_Cedric is on his way to the Prefect's bath for another practice session with the charm._

_I walk with him each evening before his swim. He never asks me to accompany him inside. I'm not a Prefect; I'm not allowed._

_But that's not why he doesn't ask me. He doesn't ask because he believes I'll agree._

_And Cedric is rarely wrong._

_He doesn't ask for the same reasons we don't go for walks alone, or meet in empty classrooms, or ever find the need to be in or around a cupboard at the same time._

_He says, without saying, that he wants what boys want. He says that the time is wrong. He says "not yet"… but really means I'm too young._

_He says these words and keeps his distance and becomes my companion and study partner and best friend and often hand-holder._

_And in an unnamed magic, it makes me want with him what I never entertained before._

_He thinks intimacy is something that he spares me, but it is something I spare him._

_I would give him anything, save regrets._

_At the bath's door, he kisses me softly._

"'_To recover what we took' - what would they want to take?" I ask, quoting a portion of the egg's riddle._

_He shrugs. "Most likely, something that represents the school. All the champions will need to be equally invested in whatever is taken and I don't think that Durmstrang lot brought anything more uniforms and wands."_

_I shrug and hope I appear placated. Cedric winks and disappears to practice. I'll worry. He'll practice. That's how we work._

_._

Quick as a flash, Hermione looked up from the page. "Do you suppose that he… that Cedric had trouble in the Black Lake?" Her eyes were wide and told of her sudden realization that she could well read of how Cedric met his fate at any moment.

"What makes you feel that way?" Minerva said, sounding a bit too much like a psychiatrist for Hermione's liking.

The lump in Hermione's throat went down only with great effort. "I've been thinking and it seems that there would be no reason for Cedric to perish in the maze if Harry was never in the tournament. Without Harry as a target, there would be no encounter with Voldemort. And yet..."

"And yet…" Minerva encouraged.

"Yet Cedric is… dead." It hurt simply to say it. "So, this book will eventually tell me…" _how I lost him _"…tell us, how he died."

"So it would seem." To Hermione's ears, Minerva's voice sounded as though it were pouring through a watery tube.

Hermione ran a hand through her tangled mane. She realized for the first time that she was slouching on her bed, but she couldn't summon the will to sit up straight in front of the woman she respected more than just about anyone else on the planet. From her nightstand, the charmed pocket watch she used as an alarm clock began to sing its eleven o'clock song.

"I'm exhausted," she heard herself say.

Minerva contemplated for a moment. "The hour is late. I'll retire after you've read another section."

With that not-so-gentle prodding, Hermione began again.

.

_The library holds no records of past tournaments with similar challenges. I've read everything from historical records to first-hand accounts. Even obituaries._

_It is the eve of the Second task, and we sit at our fully-observable–by-Madam-Pinse-at–all-times library table._

_Cedric rolls up his scroll and tucks it into his pack. "Well, Snape will be so disappointed that I've completed his last-minute essay." He winces playfully as his chair scrapes noisily across the library floor._

"_That man. Honestly." I begin to load my bag. "I thought he only had it out for Harry."_

_Cedric stops gathering his things. "He hates Potter well enough. I don't see how another surprise assignment is at all like the dysfunction those two have going on."_

_"Don't you?" I huff. "It's as if he is trying to sabotage you."_

_"Sabo- wait, wait, wait." His brow furrows. It seems I've struck some sort of nerve. "Are you telling me… are you seriously telling me that right now, after all the research, all the practice, all the preparations, that, that… that a blasted, busy-work assignment on Sphinx riddles would derail me?"_

"_N-no." I gather my things quickly, not liking where this is going. "It's plain meant to pile more on you tonight of all nights. You need rest and a clear he-"_

_"Your faith is awesome," he says flatly. It sounds as though all the air has left his lungs. "You know, Granger, you were the one person I thought… nevermind."_

_He's gone from the table faster than I thought was possible. I can't even fool myself into thinking he doesn't hear me call his name several times because I get a wave of dismissal as he rounds the corner toward Snape's office._

_I don't get to see his face._

_Or wish him luck._

_Or tell him that I know he doesn't even need it._


	7. Chapter 7

Upon awakening, Hermione had a sinking feeling.

More like sunk.

It was most likely owing to the fact that her posterior was mere inches from the floor.

For, as luck would have it, it seemed Hermione had scored the only mattress in existence that appeared to be hollow. Professor Bins, being incorporeal and all, seemed to have possessed no need of lumbar support and must have used the bed as make-shift storage.

Gracelessly, she slung her calf over the bedrail and climbed her way out. She tsked ruefully. It sagged more like a hammock than a proper bed.

Having overslept for some odd reason, she dressed and resigned herself to go and see what could be found in the kitchens. The start-of-term feast was still several days away and she'd not been apprised of any staff protocol.

It seemed there was but one thing to do. She grabbed the Journull and opened her door.

Then, she stopped short.

There, on the floor, just outside her chamber, was a breakfast tray as tidy as anyone could hope. Orange marmalade and toast and pumpkin juice. The idea of sweet spread making her juice taste tart made Hermione wince, but she took it gratefully and made a mental note to thank the elves for the unexpected kindness. She hated the idea that they felt that they needed to labour even more than they already do simply because she had failed to awaken at a sensible hour.

There was nothing left on the tray but crumbs and serviceware by the time the Headmistress arrived to check in on her newest teacher.

"Good morning Hermione, shall we resume where we left off?" Minerva swept through the room toward and the chair. "I trust you slept w- Gracious!" Her eyes bulged at the sagging mattress as it skimmed the floor. "Whatever has happened? Surely… surely you didn't attempt to sleep on such a sorry sagging sack?"

Red tinged Hermione's cheeks. "I did, actually."

Minerva lifted a quilt with caution, but the mattress shell shifted and fell the rest of the way to the floor with a soft slap. "How ever did you manage such a mean feat?"

Hermione shrugged. The book in her hand felt heavier with each passing moment.

Minerva patted the young witch's shoulder. "Perhaps it was a mistake to move you into a room that has been uninhabited by the living for well over a century." She did a double take at the breakfast tray but said nothing. "I'll arrange for more suitable rooms while we continue our project. There is an empty room nearer my own."

Giving a cursory look around the decrepit room in which she hadn't even begun to feel at home, Hermione conceded that a move was in order. The daylight revealed the space as even gloomier than it had seemed the previous night. A few huge, fluffy clumps of what appeared to be fallen cobwebs littered the floor.

She resumed her hold on the book and put the timepiece from her night-stand into her pocket. She would trust the rest to whatever methods the Headmistress used to move objects from A to B.

"Let us get some fresh air, shall we?" Minerva lead the way to the courtyard.

Once the ladies had settled into a mossy nook, Hermione once again opened the book.

_I make my way toward the Hufflepuff Common Room entrance, dodging sets of quizzical eyes along the path._

_My presence here is not, necessarily, unwelcome, but unusual nonetheless. Routinely, Cedric bids me goodnight under the Fat Lady's chins; I never escort him to his door._

_I've also never before seen him truly cross with me._

_I've never been so disappointed in myself._

_A few of the looks are green rather than curious. To Hufflepuffian females, I am an outsider who has stolen their prized_ _Hippogriff.__ I twist the strap of my bag around my finger repeatedly._

"_Granger. You're wanted in the headmaster's office." I hear Professor Moody's gravelly voice behind me._

"_But, sir, I nee-"_

_"Yes, yes. Tomorrow is the tournament and you've got it in your head to blow your sweetheart a good luck kiss."_

_"No!" I gasp. The stray Hufflepuffs traveling by titter like field mice. "Tomorrow is the task. I need to tell him tha-"_

_"Yes, it is tomorrow and undoubtedly he is well-prepared and in need of a sound night's sleep. Whatever sweet nothings you want to tell him will just have wait."_

_Humiliation supreme. As desperately as I want to patch up with Cedric, it seems prudent to, and impossible not to, go to Dumbledore's office now. I'll have to find my way to an audience with Cedric after lights out._

_**/* *\**_

_A diminutive blonde in Beaubaton robes sits in one of two chairs in front of the Headmaster's desk. Her little feet swing above the stone floor as she looks anxiously over her shoulder at me._

"_Ah, Miss Granger. How good of you to join us." Dumbledore motions for me to take a seat. "Ginger snap?"_

_I shake my head. The little girl beside me clasps her fingers tightly in her lap. For the first time, I notice Professor McGonagall and Madam Maxim standing in the corner._

"_No doubt, you're wondering why you've been summoned here." He peers over his spectacles and continues. "As you must be aware at this point, the champions will search for something very valuable to them in the morning."_

_Moody shuffles into the room making enough racket to wake inferi. I look to him just long enough that, hopefully, Dumbledore doesn't see my look of admission regarding knowledge of the task._

_"In this room, we've gathered those things most treasured by the champions." He gestures in a sweeping motion over myself, the little French girl who I've deduced must be the Beaubaton champion's little sister, and a very expensive-yet-well-worn broom. "As of this moment, and until the completion of the second task, the champions will have no knowledge of their whereabouts."_

_"What's whereabouts?" The little blonde girl asks as she absentmindedly reaches for a sweet… which growls at her._

_Moody splutters, "Bloody stupid idea, using those girls. Should hide brooms for each one of 'em, just like that straw-head Krum."  
><em>

"_Really Albus," McGonagall says. "It's one thing to set a broom underwater for an hour and another to put these girls down there. My stars, what if anything were to go wrong?"_

_"Us?" My mind races. Not only do I not relish the idea of being in the Black Lake for any period of time, I need to speak with Cedric._

_"Minerva, who would've thought I possessed more faith in your stasis enchantment skills that you do yourself?" Dumbledore said in his usual, unruffled lilt. McGonagall's lip purse._

_I can't believe they expect this of us. "I really have to speak with Cedric tonight. If you'll ju-"_

_"That is out of the question," Madam Maxim interrupts. "There must be no clues."_

_My fingers ache and I realize I have a death grip on the chair arm. "Are you telling me I have no choice here?"_

_Dumbledore clears his throat. "Our research showed that the disappearance of you ladies and a very superstitious Viktor's lucky competition broom would have an equivalent amount of stress on each champion. I'm afraid submerging Mr. Diggory's or Miss Delacour's brooms would put the Durmstrang champion at a disadvantage. Our visiting students brought precious little beyond clothes and wands… and we can hardly go making off with a wizard's wand."_

_"But, I just need to tell him th-"_

_"Enough, Miss Granger." Dumbledore pushed his chair in, signalling the end of the meeting. "This is nothing personal, I assure you. Before champions were even selected, Professor Moody had done everything he could to sell me on the idea of exclusively inanimate object submersion. This however, is the fairest solution, and I know that you ladies would not want to be the ones to forfeit their school's eligibility in this most prestigious of tournaments."_

_"No, sir," we reply in monotone._

_A short while later, I've been made to bed down in Professor McGonagall's room for the evening._

_I spend the night lying in bed awake. The night is still and silent, only broken by the post-lights-out commotion of an outsider trying to convince the Fat Lady to grant them access to Gryffindor Common Room._

_I know it is Cedric. I don't know what he's come to say to me, but I do know that leaving things as they are between us right now renders moot all their efforts to keep this task fair._

_Daybreak comes. _

_The last thing I remember is a long, cold hike to platforms on the Lake, where McGonagall raises her wand and opens her mouth to speak._

_Then nothing…_

…

A/N: That didn't seem like a cliffhanger when I wrote it…but then I know what happens next.

Thanks again to Heatherbella for beta-ing & deb24601 & Chaz for pre-reading


	8. Chapter 8

…_until I open my eyes to a blurry world and cough water from nearly every orifice._

"_Hermione." Cedric bobs in front of me, his voice a mere rasp from disuse. His arm is around me, supporting me, and he takes a break from treading to wipe my face with his other hand. He tries to say more, but the rest of his words are swallowed up in the crowd's roar and splashing water._

_I feel myself pulled up to the platform. Warm blankets encircle me._

_Fat water droplets cling to my lashes. Everything within my view is a prism. A dozen exhausted-looking Cedrics crouch in front of me only to be whisked away by tournament officials a moment later. Above my chattering teeth, I think I hear the judges declare Cedric the winner._

"_Is this the sort of thing you do to pass the time these days?" Harry appears and wraps yet another towel around me._

_"Potter," a voice – Fred? - sounds out behind us, "you're forgetting something, aren't you, mate?"_

_"Oh, right then," Harry says, embarrassed. A wave of his wand and I'm drier. "Better?"_

_"Infinitely," I smile at him. It feels like forever since we've spoken. "You've been practising wordless incantation! That's brilliant."_

_Harry shrugs sheepishly. "Yeah, well I've had to fend for myself lately, with you gone all the time."_

_"Oh, Harry. I'm sure you've managed." I realize for the first time that I really have missed him._

_He smiles. "I have at that."_

Hermione looked up from the page. Mid-day sun bathed the yard and the elderly witch listening to her tale looked more relaxed than she could ever recall witnessing before. One shoe dipped below her robes, swinging slowly back-and-forth like a pendulum.

The day had turned out to be a beautiful one and Hermione took a moment to take in the grounds.

Everything looked less formidable in the light.

The Forbidden Forest where she and Harry had lured Umbridge to the Centaurs.

Or had they?

The Groundskeeper's hut rebuilt after Death Eaters invaded Hogwarts her sixth year.

Maybe.

The Quidditch pitch that had held the Tournament maze where Cedric…

"How much do you suppose could be different?" Minerva startled a bit as Hermione broke the silence.

"I dare say, if Potter learned how to survive without your constant assistance, that would be a most welcome difference."

Hermione cleared her throat to begin again, but her eye caught movement on the courtyard's periphery.

A shadow flowing against the breeze.

Or, she'd thought she'd seen something.

Squinting, she strained to see it again. Nothing.

Mossy pillars, green grounds, aged columns. Nothing more.

It was residual paranoia from months of looking of her shoulder, surely. Scolding herself, she swallowed, smoothed the page, and breathed in again.

There.

Across the yard, it was there. Against a cluster of trees.

It was still. An unnatural darkness where there should be light.

"Hermione? The book was cast aside. Hermione stood slowly, eyes fixed.

"Do you see it?"

"What is it you wish for me to see?"

"There. Just across the lawn." She inclined her head barely in the direction of the trees. Hoping that it was just her imagination. Fearing it was just her imagination, that she was permanently damaged.

Minerva moved behind her, attempting to mimic her gaze. "I see nothing. Perhaps it would help if I knew what I was looking for," she said softly.

Hermione glanced back and tried to force a smile. "There. By the tree line. A shadow in sunlight."

But when she returned to look upon it again, it was no longer there.

Perhaps it never had been.

"Undoubtedly, you've been through trying times," Minerva patted her shoulder as she spoke. "There is no shame in being wary."

"I suppose."

"Hogwarts is a safe haven, I assure you." Minerva's robe swirled as she returned to her seat. "No unauthorized entity shall succeed in breaching these grounds."

Chastened, Hermione pursed her lips and picked up the discarded book, though her eyes flitted involuntarily to the tree line again before she began to read.  
><em><br>"Potter, are you moving in on my girl?"_

_A portion of my brain may short circuit. My girl…_

_"Um, no, I… I was just-"_

_"Relax, mate. It's good to see you." Cedric, still dripping, takes my hand, helping me up while still speaking with Harry. Despite the chill and how divine it was to be perfectly dry for a few moments, I step gratefully into his side as his draws me in. "We are mates, right?"_

_"Oh, sure," Harry stumbles through the words, then finishes brightly. "Sure, of course."_

_"Brilliant," Cedric says, and he and Harry proceed to discuss animatedly how very bizarre it would've been to spend all year as passive-aggressive rivals._

_Well, I term it "passive-aggressive" while they seem content to leave it unlabelled._

_"Yes, yes yes... what a grand day it is." Professor Moody gripes. "Move along now. Task's over. Potter! Come here, boy. I need to talk about your lessons."_

_With the crowd gone and Harry momentarily distracted, I decide to seize the moment._

_So does Cedric._

_"I'm so sorry-"_

_"I'm sorry-"_

_"Hermione, do you have any idea how incredibly, vastly quiet the Black Lake is?" As he speaks, I feel him tuck my hair behind my ear._

_"Imagine hearing nothing apart from your own thoughts for an hour. Nothing," he speaks softly, and looks at me in a way I feel burrow into places I didn't even realize I kept for myself._

_All I can do is shake my head once, slowly. I don't even think such a response makes sense._

_He smiles in a melancholy way... "Each thought is like a thunderclap." His eyes move to the water for a moment, then back. "Now, imagine that those thoughts all centred on what an unmitigated ass you'd been the last time you saw someone... um, **the **someone... well, what I'm saying is that an hour is a very long time for self-castigation."_

_"You can't do that, Cedric. I was being stupid; of course nothing like a short essay was going to affect your chances."_

_"Oh, but it did. In a matter of speaking." He sighs heavily "I never knew I could swim that fast. The one thought in my head was that I needed it to be you in the water. If you weren't there… if you were done with me…" His lips purse. "I couldn't sleep after I thought you'd refused to speak with me last night. I couldn't eat after you didn't come down to breakfast. I…" He pulls me in, speaks into my hair. "I thought I'd lost you."_

_"You can't lose me, Cedric. I won't let you."_

_"Hermione," he whispers against me. "I promise you, no matter what, no matter the circumstances or the issue or the odds – I swear, I will never walk away from you again."_

_"I'll hold you to that."_

_Moody gives a sidelong glance to where Cedric and I stand, then tosses back a nip from his decanter as he turns to leave._

_Cedric, still on a high from his victory, can't seem to contain himself. "Best hold up on that brew, Processor Moody, or you'll never make it clear to dinner."_

_In less than a blink, Moody is nose-to-nose with Cedric, his bulbous, magic eye swirling to watch me at the same time. "And you'd do well to mind your own business as much as you do your hair, Pretty Boy."_

_"Surely you can't think Cedric meant anything by that, Professor Moody," I offer._

_My offering is not well-received. "One day, Granger, one day you're going to court so much trouble that you can't shake the suitor. Aren't you familiar with the phrase 'trouble follows you everywhere?'"_

_With that he turns and hobbles along the walkway, muttering loudly while the clunks from his iron leg cause ripples to weave along the water. Cedric's fingers dig into my waist._

_"Sorry," he looks down after a moment._

_My fingers slide over and between his. "Not to worry."_

_"He is truly mad, isn't he?"_

_Harry walks with us as we trail far behind the old man. "He's alright."_

_"Hey, what's it like down there? In the Black Lake," Harry asks eagerly as we make our way up toward the castle._

_"Brilliant." Cedric beams. "Dark and deep. Ruins… I would love to know what those are all about. Oh, and merfolk! Yeah, they're not as attractive as one might think. There is a stained glass window in the Prefect's bath that is blatant propaganda."_

_The rest of the day flows by as Cedric shares the lake's secrets._

"We'd best head in to dinner before the elves refuse to serve us. Shall we Hermione?" Minerva rose and headed indoors without another word.

Unable to stop herself, Hermione looked over the expanse of the grounds thoroughly before following behind.


	9. Chapter 9

_The latter part of the term has flown by. Before it seems possible, the grounds are green, reports are due, and the third task is upon us._

_I'm nervous for the task._

_Unlike last time, we have nothing to work on. No clues to solve. No preparations to make. No idea what he will face._

_The classes Cedric and I take together still require a good deal of study sessions, but even the easy time we spend together has taken on an edge of anticipatory tension in these final days before the task._

_I'm nervous about the unknown._

_And not simply about the task outcome._

_What of us? Are we so solidified that what we have – a handful of chaste kisses and scholastic compatibility – can withstand the distractions of summer?_

_Cedric will be entering his final year. Doubtless, he will return as Head Boy; it would be quite shocking if he weren't offered the position after being selected as Hogwart's champion, whether he wins the tournament or not._

_My eyes dart to where he sits beside me at the library table. Hair a bit mussed. Grey eyes gliding across a page. Focused._

_I cannot imagine a moment when I would tire of looking at him._

_Our time is calm and productive and treasured. Well, I treasure it, to be sure. But will Cedric soon tire of it, feeling bogged down by the two full years I am behind him? Beauties in his own year are plentiful and I'd be fooling myself to write them all off as empty-headed ninnies._

_Summer is naught but a series of long, hot days that are made for young men like Cedric to use to spread their wings. Their libidinous wings._

_The pressure of my thoughts finds its way to my fingers as my quill accidentally tears the parchment. I'm in a right lather. It seems prudent to just go ahead and rip off the bandage, Steeling myself, I ask for his thoughts._

"_Ced," I ask, trying to keep any hint of clinginess out of my voice, "what are your plans this summer?"_

_Without looking up from his papers, Cedric smiles knowingly. "I suspect I'll be spending a fair amount of time in London."_

_Just like that, I'm at ease._

"_You might as well ask me straight out in the future, rather than stewing." He laughs, still not looking up. "I can tell when a troubled thought passes over you. You've rather resembled a crup hearing a bell."_

"_Oh, have I now? Enjoyed my suffering, have you?" I retort and we tease one another until the library closes._

_._

_._

Hermione made a side-trip to the kitchens to thank the rather confused and bemused house elves for cooking for her again, and then made her way toward her new room.

The room of Professor Vector, who was on sabbatical, was situated near what would be Hermione's classroom. She began envisioning her future days, awakening to the light streaming over the hills and in through the colourful glass windows as she would tote freshly marked assignments to return to her eager students. Eager, yes. She would definitely find a way to inspire her students to see the benefit of studies.

One look at the gathering in the hall outside her new quarters told Hermione that her daily treks would not start from there afterall.

"Hermione, it looks as though yet another relocation has become necessary as we need to remedy a rather nasty doxie infestation." Minverva said, and directed Mr. Filch to proceed.

Hermione shuddered. She had gained her fill of doxies and other magical household pests while cleaning out Twelve Grimmauld Place just before her fifth year.

Thinking back on that time, of preparing the house for use by the then newly reconvened Order of the Phoenix, seemed like such a transitory period in her life now. No longer a child, but endangered all the same. The danger had become very tangible.

Impossible to ignore once Voldemort had returned.

Once he, without a moment's hesitation, had committed murder.

"-ione? Hermione? Did you not hear me?"

"Oh, my apologies. I don't know where my head was," Hermione hedged.

Minerva whispered a nearly inaudible spell and Hermione's belongings began to amble down the corridor. "Follow your things. We shall set you up in the Head Boy's room until this is mess is ordered. I think you shall find it quite suitable, it is near my own chambers and the students won't arrive for days yet."

By the time she wound through the corridors to what was traditionally the Head Boy's room, almost everything had found a home. She surveyed the space, absent mindedly running her thumb over the scroll work design on her pocket watch. Books on the shelves, shoes in the closet, robes on the mahogany butler.

The room was barren apart from her belongings and several carvings on the outer wall, each one a casual legacy for a past resident .

"JP + LE Forever"

"Percy Weasley, Head of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Bill Weasley - n - Heather McTavish"

Bill's was surrounded by a large, deeply carved and rather intricately embellished heart and Hermione could only laugh as she imagine Fleur Weasley's reaction to seeing her husband's name thus displayed with another female.

Of course, Ron Weasley's name was not among his brothers'. He had never seemed inclined to take that same route, something that had bothered Hermione to no end.

Hermione searched the wall a bit more, hoping to perhaps find what Dumbledore might've chosen during his stint to leave behind for the ages. There were hundreds, some simple initials and even an anonymous, unique scroll carving.

She found herself tracing its planes when Minerva appeared at the door.

"Shall we continue?" She asked needlessly.

.

.

"_But the bloody Quidditch pitch? Why? There's loads of space 'round here." Harry has been bemoaning the disappearance of his favourite place since we first arrived in the stands._

_The pitch is gone and in its place is an enormous labyrinthine series of foliage walls. Cedric told me the champions were taken to see the site of the task and that is was a maze, but I had not envisioned anything so monstrous._

"_Harry," I say, again, "it's not as though it can't be erected again before anyone has need of it."_

_"Yeah, probably take Dumbledore all of two seconds," Ron adds. He's been rather standoffish of late, but fun today. A fact for which I am grateful; I welcome all the pleasant distraction I can get._

_The champions enter the field below us. Cedric's father walks with him, holding Cedric's arm up in a sort of boastful fist pump that Cedric can't pull himself out of fast enough. The elder Mr. Diggory appears as though he might burst with pride. I hope that I mimic the same visage while Cedric appears to search for me in the crowd. It isn't that I'm not proud of him. I am. Incredibly so._

_It also isn't that I don't think he can handle whatever they throw his way. He can. But…_

_The words from the start of term keep echoing in my mind, the reason why the tournament is closed to anyone under seventeen: People die in this tournament._

_Cedric finds me among the other Gryffindors and with the slight incline of his head and a smile that breaks through what is clearly a stellar case of nerves, I can tell he's got a plan._

_Whatever the plan is, I have no clue as the Diggorys showed up last evening to spend time with their only son. A scowling Mrs. Diggory barely registered my presence when Cedric introduced me. He said I was Hermione Granger, daughter of dentists and that my advanced placement meant we shared many classes. His mother seemed to only hear that I was a muggle-born and younger, then sniffed the barest of pleasantries _

_The encounter was uncomfortable in the extreme and I truly wanted to defend my position in his life, but it hardly seemed the time. Swallowing a bit of pride – temporarily, I assured myself – and not wishing to be the source of any undue stress on Cedric the night before this task as well, I made a hasty retreat to allow him time with his family._

_His pureblood family… does not include me._

_Proceedings begin. Dumbledore announces that Professor Moody has placed the Tri-Wizard Cup itself deep within the maze. Moody gives a bow and nearly topples over, either from the influence of his ever-present flask or from tottering on the uneven ground with his metal leg._

_There are to be hazards of all natures inside the maze, as well as the treasured cup itself. Not that anyone expected it to be a simple matter of navigation._

_The start is signalled and Cedric's eyes meet mine before he turns and disappears into the hedge maze. I thought all would be quiet tension after his departure, but the crowd is boisterous and explosive sounds from within the maze occasionally punctuate the air. Each blast earns a roar from the stands and every explosion garners a short song burst from the band amid cheers._

_All the while, my fingers are near numb as I cling to the bleacher railing. Another bang and the crowd goes wild and I wonder why everyone doesn't grasp that each detonation means the people in there are embattled. They are defending themselves. They could well perish._

_Fleur is the first out, and not because she won. Her hair is singed off on one side and she yells at Hagrid in a flurry of French for cultivating "those 'ridicule' blast-ended screwts!" and "but of course they should fire upon me! Stupid beasts are blind and cannot appreciate my charms!"_

_More explosions._

_A mysterious gold mist that floats out of the maze and envelops a portion of the stands._

_The entire maze seems to rustle to its core._

_And then, no more. Silence._

_Eerie. Desolate and every moment demonized. A student somewhere behind us whispers. "Where are… do you suppose-"_

"_Oi, shut up now, would you?" Ron hisses over his shoulder. "Harry, what do make of that… Harry? Where do you suppose he is off to? Makes no se-"_

_His words are cut off by thunderous applause as Cedric emerges from the maze, a limping Victor Krum leaning on his arm and the glowing cup dangling from the other._

_Ignoring the general call for order, the crowd descends upon the pair. It's chaos._

_I lose sight of him, but only for a moment. Then, he breaks through the crowd and makes a beeline to where I am now running down the steps._

_In the background, his father holds the cup aloft. The crowd cheers in acknowledgement every time he lifts it over his head ._

_"Your father seems well pleased."_

_"Who?"_

_"Your father. You know, the gentleman back there holding your shiny new cup."_

_"Who?" Cedric repeats with a small laugh. "What cup?_

_I look at him for a moment, the rolling sea of people behind him, his moment of glory passing by unnoticed. It is abundantly clear that he does not care._

_He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a flower attached to the same greenery as the hedges._

_"Cedric," I say, and trace a scratch under his eye. "If you say something pathetic like 'all I see is you' I will laugh in your face."_

_"No comment."_

_For a moment, all seems right with the world._

_._

_._

A/N: I am replying to all the reviews - but I am now understanding that some of the replies are not being received. I'm not sure what to do differently, I am guessing it's a site issue.

Please know I do appreciate every single review, sincerely.  
>So many of you have mentioned being new to HP fic or wanting more CedricHermione pairings. In case you didn't get my replies, please allow me to recommend Finding Himself by minisinoo. It is my all-time favorite fic.

Thank you again to Heather for her beta skills.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you again to Heatherbella for betaing and for nudging me in the direction appropriate Britishisms.

…

…

"Do join me in the courtyard, my dear." Minerva appeared in the doorway of Hermione's chambers.

The young woman nodded slowly but made no move to leave, instead remaining on her bed, book in hand. Her fingers traced the green-tinged pages until it seemed the colour should be transferred to her skin.

She brought her hand up, nearer her face. It was as empty as she felt.

"I thought it…" she began, then succumbed to nervous energy and began to fiddle with her pocket-watch again, the texture of its scrolled design soothing under her fingertips. "I thought it would be over by now."

The ancient bed frame creaked as Minerva sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "You had not expected him to survive the task."

Hermione turned her face upward and blinked rapidly. "It isn't as if I didn't want him to. But what difference did it make? He's not here now is he? He's still gone."

Minerva pursed her lips. Words of comfort remained unformed; the burden must be borne.

"Why do I feel so… so… guilty?"

"Why indeed." Minerva surveyed the graffitied walls. "The boys who made their marks here – do you believe they regretted them in later days?"

Hermione remained silent, eyes travelling across the letters, the scroll etching, the time-worn calligraphy.

"Emotions, honestly felt, harbour no shame." Minerva stood to leave. "Perhaps a trip to Hagrid's would be in order. A friendly face," she said with a small laugh. "A large one at that."

As she walked the slope to Hagrid's hut, Hermione fought to keep her eyes from drifting to the tree-line. It would do no good to obsess over what had likely been a figment of her imagination.

She was like a horse in blinders. So focused was she on not looking at the yard's edges that she failed to notice much more. Not the direction of the wind, nor the rustle in the underbrush. Certainly not the ever-increasing speed of her steps. The grounds were a blur and in her periphery the dark lake blended into the shadowed forest and clouded sky.

Everything was a dull haze, so she barely registered it.

Drawn there beyond reason and restraint, she glanced at a corner near the greenhouse.

It was there. Right there. Mere feet away. Grey where it should be glass and green.

She hadn't imagined the shadow earlier. It had followed her here. Here!

Unbidden, she halted and stared. The figure swayed, its hood drawn low, cloak skimming the earth.

"What do you want? What do you want of me?"

The figure jerked in an odd way, not a nod or any other movement that might divulge its intent.

"What? What?" Hermione demanded, knees stiff and eyes fixed.

A moment's pause, then the garbled sounds that still permeated Hermione's darkest sleep curdled in her ears. Inhuman and incomprehensible. A series of high pitches, then low, and more consonants than there seemed to be letters in any alphabet. Over and over again. The same sounds in the same succession, the only variant being a distinct lack of air on the final utterances before it backed away.

Unmoving, she watched until it quickly disappeared into the Forbidden Forest.

It was only then that Hermione saw the ground where it had been near her.

Brown and withered. Diseased, as if everything living had been touched by Death himself.

Hagrid shut the door to what had most recently been the Head Boy's room behind him as a concerned Minerva paced the hallway floor.

"How can this be?" She wrung her hands. "She's been promised protection, assured of it."

"Can't rightly say," he gruffed. "No tellin', but I'd wager it weren't nothing trailed in from the forest or up through the lake. Locked up tighter than a niffler's cage we are."

"No one is questioning your thoroughness, Hagrid, however, the fact remains that _thing_ has indeed followed Miss Granger and we are at a loss as to how or why." Minerva whispered, but it was fruitless; Hermione heard every word from within her room.

"Or what," Hagrid muttered.

"What indeed. You say you actually laid eyes upon it. I need to know everything, every little detail."

"Oh, um, I don't rightly know how much help I'll be to you professor. Hermione's seen it so many times, it'd be best to ask her."

Exasperated, Minerva pressed. "Be that as it may, she is hardly in a state to share such matters, as you well know."

Hagrid eyed the door, thinking of the young lady behind it and all the trials she'd already endured. Walking her back inside a short time ago, he had to admit, might be the most broken-spirited he'd ever seen her. "Mostly, it's a cloak. Not so much like a Dementor – not made of a cloak - but wearing a dark cloak that covers it clean up. Hiding."

"There are plenty of places to hide here, yet you say it was in plain sight near the greenhouses."

"No… well, uh… what I mean is, it were by the greenhouses. I seen it earlier," he said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "Thought it was just a shadow on account of heavy clouds or what have you,

so I went about my rounds. I don't think it expected anyone to come by. Hermione was moving right quick at that." He lowered his voice even more. "It's more like it's hiding what's under that cloak and I can't say as I blame it." A shudder visibly through him. "Looked like one of them Death Eater's masks covered up with skin.

"Death Eat-" Minerva caught herself and fell back to a whisper. "You are mistaken, surely."

"I know what I saw." Hagrid straightened himself. "And I don't knows I'd want to see its like again."

Minerva dismissed Hagrid, but not before Hermione heard the headmistress make another decree. "You may well be out of luck on that order; Hermione will need an escort any time she leaves the castle."

Moments later, Hermione answered the knock at her door. She breathed deeply and forced a calm façade.

Minerva stood in the doorway but made no move enter. "Hermione, we'd agreed to continue reading, however, under these circumstances it-"

"Would make a brilliant distraction. Please, come in."

.

.

_Our moment of contentment is short lived. Ron has become frantic._

_"Harry's disappeared. I can't find him. He's not here. Not here!" He circles round the wooden stands and peers underneath, calling Harry's name. Strains of a march blast from grandstand and the field is teeming with people._

_"Ron, he's probably down there," I say and gesture past Cedric to where nearly everyone we know celebrates._

_"No, no he's not." Ron keeps spinning while he searches. "He was gone… just disappeared right before Cedric even came out of the maze." His anxiety is contagious and I feel a prickling down my spine. I look around and Harry truly is nowhere to be seen. Something is not right._

_"I'll go look," Cedric offers, and heads toward the crowd._

_"No, wait. You'll be mobbed down there," I say. A huge ruckus begins as if on cue._

_"Good point," he agrees immediately, and climbs to the top, assuming the position of lookout while Ron and I disperse._

_Ron finds Dumbledore first and has explained the situation by the time I find them. "Any lucky with Moody?" Ron asks breathlessly._

_"None. He's gone, too." I'm panting, blood pounding in my ears so loudly the mob fades away. I look up to Cedric and he shakes his head, coming up empty from his vantage point as well._

_"We need to think," I hear myself say. "Any idea where he might be?"_

_We talk over one another, words spilling and overlapping and fighting for dominance while Dumbledore listens. Immediately, Moody's lessons become suspect; Dumbledore knew and approved of nothing extra-curricular between them. Harry may well be a victim of misplaced trust._

_But, where would he take him?_

_"As it seems they've had ample time to make it off school grounds before his absence was noted," Dumbledore says while Ron glares at me, "they could well be anywhere. Think back. Have there been any clues, any hint at all?"_

_I don't know why the memory hits me. "At the beginning of term, Harry said he was plagued with dreams about a headstone."_

_"Tom Riddle's grave?" Ron can't help but continue to look around, despite the pointlessness. Harry's shaggy head is nowhere to be seen._

_I feel ashamed._

_I had not spoken with him enough to even know he'd been dreaming about You-Know-Who's father's name. If I had… the danger is unmistakable. What else have I missed?_

_I make a silent vow that if… when… Harry is returned to us, I will be steadfast forever more._

_"It seems entirely likely that you are, as always, correct Miss Granger. More's the pity in this instance." With that, Dumbledore moves swiftly, a light touch on the shoulders of Professors Snape, McGonagall and others he passes and they all make for the gates without a backward glance._

_._

_._

Hermione looked up suddenly at Minerva. "Did you already suspect Moody?"

The elder witch cocked an eyebrow. "What makes you think I would know any better than you would? This process works the same for me as well, child."

.

.

_Ron and I stand stock still, watching helplessly as their figures grow swiftly smaller nearer the exit._

_"What's all that about?" Cedric slips in beside me._

_"Are you serious? 'What's that about?'" Ron practically spits. "It's all about you, isn't it? Not enough you spend every damned day with her, but she doesn't even notice her best friend disappear from right beside her."_

_"Honestly, Ron! That's enough. It isn't as though it's Cedric's fault." I expect Cedric to chime in, but he doesn't. He just remains beside me, watching the others leave._

_In the distance, a faint crack echoes as the professors disapparate beyond the school's grounds._

_"In case you two can be troubled enough to wonder," Ron spins to face me, "Harry's been having those dreams about the graveyard for months. Course, you'd know that if you were ever around. The scar burns like mad and he wakes up thrashing worse than ever. Suppose that's where they've headed."_

_I open my mouth to explain. I want to explain that I'm not Harry's keeper and I have every right to pursue higher academic goals and it is most assuredly not his business with whom I spend my time._

_I want to say these things, but Ron isn't having it. "Don't bother Hermione." He stalks away, muttering "Too little, too late" under his breath._

_Below us, the oblivious crowd has begun to chant "Diggory, Diggory" while banners sway and the band has begun recycling songs from its limited repertoire._

_"Cedric, your public awaits." I try to sound light-hearted despite everything._

_"Doesn't seem right to celebrate now." He hesitates over joining the fray, so I run my hand along his back and try to encourage him. He looks at me in a way I can't read. _

_"You're only a Tri-Wizard champion once. Best make the most of it."_

_"Didn't get into this mess on my own, you know." Cedric nods, as if steeling himself for the onslaught awaiting him. He may look more apprehensive than he did before the task itself._

_"Go on. Don't waste this moment."_

_His knuckles brush along mine before he breaks away. Before the bottom step, he pauses and holds out his hand._

_"Together."_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Shortly, perhaps even yet today, I'll be posting a CEDRIC POV OUTTAKE to this story. So, please check back or put me on alert!

Thank you to Celesticbliss for beta-ing this chapter while poor Heatherbella continues to be under the weather & to Chaz and debb24601 for pre-reading.  
><em><strong>.<strong>_

**_._**

_Madam Pomfrey, having shh'd the whole of Harry's anxious entourage beyond the brim of her patience, shuts the hospital wing's door on us with a stern look._

_"He will be alright, won't he?" Cedric whispers, folding my hand in his as the door latches. The move seems unconscious._

_I can practically hear Mrs. Diggory bristle from the corner._

_Oh, wait. I'm mistaken._

_It is a sight unseen before; she truly has accomplished visible bristle._

_"Bones will mend by morning," Dumbledore says on a weary breath. "The rest…he will need his friends, perhaps more so than even ever before."_

_Professor McGonagall leads Ron away after a half-hearted apology from him for our earlier row._

_To Ron's credit, I'm not even that inclined toward self forgiveness._

_"Ron had a point about not being there, you know," Cedric leans in where only I can hear. "He may not have said it in so many words, but that doesn't make it less true."_

_"I'm the one he should be sore with. Ron's got no call to have his knickers in a knot where you're concerned."_

_"I selfishly monopolized your time," Cedric says, and I start to correct him, but he holds up a hand as if he already knows what I'll say. Somehow, I don't doubt that he does. "I say he'd be daft not to want to blame me. Harry is in the infirmary and the girl he can't admit he fancies is taken."_

_"What?" I squeak. "Ron fancy me? For his homework ghostwriter maybe."_

_"Fancy's got nothing on besotted. I win."_

_Earlier, it hadn't seemed right to press for details, but I gleaned that there was a genuine wizarding battle between Death Eaters and Hogwart's staff. When I heard that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back in the flesh…well, I'd heard enough for one night. Having noted Harry's tortured and bloodied body, I'd seen enough as well._

_"My boy, your mother and I will be leaving straight away." Amos Diggory beckons Cedric to walk them out. Mrs. Diggory gives a measured look after not so subtly glancing toward our joined hands. In response, Cedric's eyes narrow._

_"Come along now, let's say our goodbyes then." Mr. Diggory seems oblivious to his family's exchange as we meander through the corridors. "You never told me that you and Harry Potter are friends! Hit it off after watching the World Cup, did you now? Nice that he'd not hold a grudge after you bested him in Quidditch last semester."_

_Cedric sighs and it has nothing to do with the huge staircase under our feet. "I keep telling you that he was attacked by Dementors."_

_"You're too modest. Nothing wrong with admitting you're the better seeker. Potter must know it and he's still you're friend."_

_"We're really only friendly, Dad. Hermione here is his best friend."_

_"Is that so?" This revelation finally warrants a response as Mrs. Diggory finds her voice. "I thought that Weasley boy was close with him," she says, never looking back as we escort them to the entry doors._

_"Ron is as well," I say._

_"I hardly see how one could have two best friends. Undermines the entire significance of the term," she sniffs. Her voice is smooth as glass, a contrast to the severe way she carries herself. "Not that I doubt you and he are actually friends."_

_Oh, of course not. I fight not to roll my eyes._

_"Mother, she is indeed his best friend and there is no doubt in my or anyone else's mind who knows half of what they've been through that Harry and Ron wouldn't have lasted this long without her. In fact, I wouldn't be here without her. Sure wouldn't be champion."_

_His father's eyes bug out and I fear he might miss a step. "What did I tell you about modesty?_

_Cedric ignores them and they pretty much ignore me, so I guess it all evens out._

_"Sorry about my mum," Cedric says as he escorts me to Gryffindor Tower after they've left._

_"You can't help who your parents are," he laughs, "You know what I meant."_

_"And you must know that I'll not be so subdued going forward. Too much happened today for me to consider a showdown as well. If I ever meet her again, she will learn that much at least."_

_"What's this 'if' rubbish?" He beams brightly, and relinquishes me to the care of The Fat Lady._

_._

_._

The hour was late when the two witches finally parted one another's company, so in fairness, Hermione might not have been terribly surprised that she had again slept through breakfast.

"Of all the times for my watch to start acting duff," she scoffed, and snatched it from the nightstand. The alarm was switch off. "I would've sworn I…nevermind," she said to herself, deciding she simply was too preoccupied mentally and must have forgotten to set it.

Through the thin window, mid-morning light beckoned her. Even from her height at the sill, Hermione could see the spot on the grounds where she'd encountered her tormentor yesterday. The small patch of brown, withered plants where it had stood so close to her was now mostly green again.

Unwelcome feelings of insecurity and doubt in the wisdom of her decision to return to Hogwarts swirled in her mind as she readied herself for the day. There was no denying at that point she'd been so meddlesome as to inspire the creation of a Journull to ensure the events of her life, perhaps she had been thorn enough in a dark wizard's paw to warrant a permanent, ghoul tormentor as well.

Her face scrunched at the taste of the jellied toast and tart juice the house elves had been kind enough to leave her after another lie-in as she wondered if her time might be wasted preparing lesson plans. It was not her intent to bring her own personal dangers to Hogwarts; she might well not stay.

A departure seemed like an even better idea when she got the kitchen.

"Got a lot of nerve marching that back down in here, she does," an apron-clad elf mumbled and snatched the empty tray from Hermione's hands with enough force that crumbs flew everywhere and she nearly dropped the book tucked under her arm.

"I'm sorry, should I have left it outside my room?" Try as she might, she'd never grasped the ins and outs of elven propensity for servitude. In fact, to this day she doubted that it was ingrained rather than learned behavior.

The elf continued to scoot away, grumbling as it disappeared into the depths of the kitchen. "Leave it by her room, she says. Helping herself to what she pleases and…"

Minerva moved around her office like a bee in a field of pollen. She paced to the Pensieve. Straightened stacked papers on the desk corner. Flitted over to the candle drawers. Righted a headmaster's portrait gone askew after its occupant quarreled with its neighbor.

"Hermione!" she practically shouted in obvious relief when the young woman entered the room. "We feared you'd left. At first I thought you'd slept in, but then you weren't there."

Sliding calmly - much more calmly than she felt - into her seat, Hermione smoothly opened the book on her lap. "I went to the kitchens."

The older witch stopped mid-pace. "Oh. Oh, of course you did. I hope the kitchen staff was accommodating."

"Shall we then?" Hermione said in the brightest voice she could muster.

.

.

_There is a familiar, yet unexpected, face outside the cell of Barty Crouch, Jr._

_"Cedric? What are you doing here?" I ask, feeling myself move faster toward him. "Aren't you supposed to be in Apparition class?"_

_"I'll be a bit late." He looks deceptively casual, leaning on the wall, hands in his pockets. "Dumbledore is in there just now and I really want to talk to him."_

_I had just come from visiting Harry and really hoped I'd feel better witnessing the person who put him in such peril removed from the premises. "Doesn't it seem as though there should be an easy way to determine if someone is taking Pollyjuice Potion?"_

_"One would think."_

_"And to keep the real Moody locked in a trunk for months? Utterly alone and unable to talk with anyone?" I shudder._

_"I can think of nothing more cruel," Cedric says, taking my hand as the cell door swings open. We are both shocked to see not only Dumbledore but behind him followed the vile, wiry man who had deceived the school and lured Harry away to what could have easily been his death. His hands and feet are bound._

_"Cruel?" Crouch licks his lips in a sickening emulation of a snake. "That's pumpkin pasties compared to what The Dark Lord has in store for you lot."_

_Cedric steps partially in front of me._

_"That'll be enough Junior." Dumbledore says wearily and leads the man toward an Azkaban transport._

_Crouch shouts back at Cedric and I. "Told you to mind your business! The Dark Lord won't rest until he has the boy."_

_Dumbledore yanks determinedly on Crouch's arm. The prisoner's shouts fade into the distance. "He knows your name! He knows your name!"_

_At nightfall, Dumbledore summons several of us to his chambers. We were told, straightforward, that Harry had been used in a spell to restore Lord Voldemort's body and that it was clear the intent was to kill Harry in short order. Crouch, still under the guise of Professor Moody, was unable to explain his presence at the graveyard and was seized immediately. Without access to his Pollyjuice Potion, he returned to his true appearance._

_"Harry will recover, but the process will be slow. We mustn't upset him or shake him from this course. It is for this reason that I must ask each and every one of you to refrain from sharing news of our world with Harry over the summer. Healing will be his highest priority."_

_Ginny balks, but adopts a respectful tone. "Won't it be worse for him, not knowing? Won't he feel abandoned?_

_Dumbledore nods once. "Likely, yes. But that is a short term concern. In the long term, it would do far more harm to have him fret helplessly over public opinion."_

_Immediately, the Minister of Magic had circulated his opinion that Harry was delusional from his injuries and had imagined that Voldemort had returned. It didn't help Harry's case that Voldemort had disapparated immediately upon the professors' arrival, leaving no other witnesses._

_But, Harry's word is good enough for Dumbledore. Good enough to reconvene the Order of the Phoenix. Good enough for there to be an all-out press campaign to claim he's wrong._

_When fourth year ends, most everything seems set to change._

_What doesn't seem ready for change is Mrs. Diggory._

_"Is it me or is no one good enough for her son?" My friendly, mid-summer lunch at the Diggory house was painfully quiet and ended with Mrs. Diggory suggesting Cedric show me around her prized garden._

_While I am interested in learning anything about where Cedric grew up (and I'm told the garden is spectacular and boasts "every non-violent, magical plant in Europe and a fair few beyond") I am left with the distinct impression that I've been invited out of his mother's presence._

_Cedric tries to laugh as he opens the gate to his family's backyard. "Probably a little of both."_

_I smile and we maneuver the cobblestone walkway through the Diggory's garden. Perhaps it's not uncommon for magical folk, but it is almost unbelievably colorful. Cartoon-esque. An entire Pergola drips with fuscia baskets rather than the pale wisteria I would expect. Vibrant irises twist long the path and other near-neon plants inhabit every corner._

_The effect is not unpleasant, but definitely not calming. But, even without Technicolor horticulture to blame, more and more I find myself strung tight around Cedric._

_I want more with him._

_I want more of him._

_I devote a shameful amount of time and effort to finding reasons to touch him._

_Near a little out building, I stop at a makeshift structure. It is the most muggle-looking thing I've seen all day. "What is this? Or, was this?"_

_Soft pink tinges his ears. "That is my fort."_

_I'm sure I look shocked, but then, I don't know what I thought young wizards played. "Cowboys and Indians?" I ask and pull him toward it._

_It looks like a great place to kiss the ever-loving Hufflepuff out of him._

_He appears reluctant, but doesn't break our hand hold and follows me in heavy steps. Inside, the ceiling is so low Cedric has to stoop. His hands run over the weathered boards._

_"Aurors and Warlocks." He finally answers, shaking his head at the memory. "Well, as close as I could manage alone. Drawbacks of being an only child." He looks at me, knowingly. "No mates out in the country and an overprotective mother."_

_"Really? Your mother?" I tease._

_I move closer but he ducks back out, beckoning me to where he stands still in the open, looking quite purposeful._

_"Hard to picture, huh? She even referred to my fort time as 'roughing it.'"_

_Once outside, I spot his mother sipping tea and watching us from the porch._

_We need time alone._

_"Cedric, is that…?" She calls, her voice sounding shaky in the breeze. "What is that sprung up round your feet?"_

_Cedric glances around a bit too casually. "I planted some pectospire last week."_

_A tea cup breaks against the floorboards. She straightens, her hands smoothing her skirt. After a moment, she looks to the gray and brown swaying petals among all her vibrant colors. We've reached the steps and she looks down on me, to our entwined hands, then finally my face._

_"Pectospire," she say almost to herself, then clears her throat. "Very well." Cough. "Miss Granger, it seems we would do well to get to know one another better." With that, she heads inside, her nose a little nearer the floor._

_"My parents are planning a trip to the Forest of Dean." I slide my arm through Cedric's. "Did you ever get to go camping?"_


End file.
